CHILD
by MindcrackDoctorate
Summary: Wash spun around in his chair, grabbing the consol to stop his momentum. The crease in his brow and frown on his lips mirrored the tense tone they'd heard over the com system. "It's Horowitz, and boy is he pissed."
1. Prologue

CHILD

Prologue

The night sky was taking on a deep purple hue as the last of rays of the day allowed the stars to make their appearance. A small fire was crackling delightfully, fighting off the rugged coolness descending on the summer desert landscape, the flames throwing shadows across the temporary camp. Although obscuring more than they lit, the remnants of a simple meal could still be located amongst the sporadic flickers. Two sand-blasted logs lay near each other on the smokeless side of the fire, and on these logs perched an assortment of adults and a young child, seeking the warmth and relative comfort their roosts provided.

Zoe smiled, leaning into her husband's embrace while he suspended a real marshmallow – on a wire he had procured from God knew where – over the fire. Grey was streaked through both their hair despite the youthful glow they still retained, making it barely believable that the little boy balanced on Zoe's knee and watching the marshmallow eagerly was indeed her grandchild. What made it easier to believe were the dark curls that spiraled into the boy's face, which his mother also shared.

It was the annual (by Haven reckoning) Washburn family camping trip, in which all three generations took time off and spent a week in the splendors of what Wash called the wilderness. In reality they were only a short ride from an outcropping and a slightly longer ride from the Washburn Ranch, but they were far enough out that they wouldn't run into folk not on a similar excursion.

"Okay, Hoban," Wash said excitedly, carefully swinging the marshmallow towards the boy's waiting hands, but keeping it just out of reach of the curling fingers, "Prepare for the most delectable, scrumptious, succulent, tasty bit of foodstuff you have ever – "

"Just give it to him, Pop, before you drop it and he jumps into the fire after it," Hoban's mother chuckled from her spot on the other log. Her curly hair was cut short, hardly brushing her shoulders as they bounced in merriment. Had her hair been longer, most people would have mistaken her for Zoe in her younger days. Her husband Tim – a tall but quiet man – sat at her side, poking at the embers with a stick and trying to coax a little more heat from the flames.

"Honestly Brunhilde, you ruin all my fun," Wash complained, but one look at the kid proved that his mother had a point, so Wash sighed and allowed his grandson to catch the treat and pull it from the wire.

Hoban gobbled it down, smearing half of it across his ear-to-ear grin. "Thanks Gramps," he mumbled thickly to his namesake as he chewed, causing the adults to laugh. Real food was a rare treat on the Rim, and it was good to see the youngster enjoying it. They would make the small bag of fluffiness last the week if they could. Hoban wiped his mouth and licked his fingers with unadulterated joy before his features slowly gave way to a curious frown. "Why'd you name Mamma Broomhill?"

"Brunhilde," Zoe corrected, hugging the boy closer now that he was done with his dessert. "We named her after a friend we met back when we worked with Uncle Mal."

"She was quite a character back then," Wash added, putting down the wire and turning towards his wife. "Remember what she used to say to Inara?" he asked around a small fit of laughter from the memory.

"You're jumping ahead, Husband," Zoe admonished with a grin.

"Sorry Wife," he replied less than sincerely, earning a soft smack on the arm. "You'll like this story," he said to Hoban, who settled in, ready for the non-edible treat he was about to get.

"Is it as good as your dinosaur stories?" he asked curiously.

Wash hesitated. It was hard to beat dinosaurs. Zoe's raised eyebrow was easy enough to quantify, though, and he quickly said, "Even better," with a believable smile. Her look softened and he knew he'd said the right thing. "Start from the beginning," he suggested.

"Well," Zoe paused, thinking. "I suppose the beginning started with Aunt Frank. You remember her, right?" she asked Hoban, who nodded enthusiastically.

"She bought me my BB gun. Did she live on Serenity with you too?"

"She surely did. Saved our lives quite a few times. Of course, in Brunhilde's case, Frank was the one who caused the trouble we got into. She had a knack for living on the edge, and dragging the rest of us along with her. Things are never boring when she's around." The adults chuckled, each remembering their own discovery of that particular fact.

Zoe's eyes glazed slightly, nearly losing herself to the memories before continuing the story. "As I said, it started with Frank, and if I remember rightly, we were on our way to Boros…"


	2. Chapter one

CHILD

Chapter one

It was late, or so Serenity was telling her crew, the night cycle having started a few hours previously. Mal was sitting at the helm, dozing lightly in the pilot's chair; Wash and Zoe had gone down to their bunk shortly after dinner, leaving him to the important task of making sure a planet didn't sneak up on them in the black.

Sleep made him think he'd imagined the soft beep from the console, but as it continued to sound, Mal found it harder to ignore. Annoyed, he unfolded his arms long enough to swat at a panel, sighing contentedly when the beeping stopped and he could go back to his dreamlike musings. Serenity was having none of it though, and lit up the screen to the captain's left just quickly enough to cause him to cringe and shield his eyes from the brightness. Cursing under his breath, he almost missed the voice coming from the speaker just under the screen. "Horowitz here, come in Serenity."

Silently cursing now, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and straightened in his seat. It had been a while since he'd dealt with this particular scoundrel, and it was always a little complicated when he did, what with the bad blood between his merc and this contact. Best put on his receptionist face, though, he reminded himself. No use causing trouble before it was due. He flipped the switch to his left, making the Wave stream both ways. "Howdy, Horowitz," he said as cheerfully as he could in the dead of night. "What can I do you for?"

The hairy man showed his crooked teeth in what Mal remembered was a yellowed smile, though the red, blue and pixilated version did nothing to pretty it up. "Hey Mal," the man drawled. "You still got that sum'bitch Frank working for ya?"

This was exactly what Mal had been hoping the Wave wasn't about. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with something the merc might have done recently to inadvertently piss this man off, but he came up blank. "That I do," he finally admitted. "He done anything I don't know about?"

Horowitz chuckled, and Mal noticed there was a slight wheeze to it. He mentally told himself to take an extra immunization supplement before coming face to face with the old man. "Nah. I was hoping to have a word with him though," Horowitz said, grinning again, making Mal all kinds of nervous.

"Oh?" he questioned, hoping he'd get a chance to prep Frank before the two sat down for a chat.

No dice, though. "Yeah," was all the man offered.

Mal sighed, admitting temporary defeat. "Alright, I won't pry. Just keep in mind, he's my man. Whatever you have to say to him, it'll get back to me one way or another."

How the screen could relay the defiant glint that suddenly appeared in the man's eye, Mal would never know, but it made his blood boil worse than the next words out of the man's mouth. "We'll see. Just put him on, will ya?"

Mal clenched his jaw but forced his smile back in place as he nodded and silently excused himself. He stood and crossed the steel landing to the com-system hanging from the bulkhead. Taking a deep breath, he flicked the switch that transmitted directly to his merc's bunk. "Frank, come up to the bridge. You have a Wave from an old friend of yours."

He remained by the com, not particularly wanting to make small talk while they waited for Frank to show up. It took only a few seconds for the clank of a hatch to be heard, and the faint clunking of boots in the corridor. A few seconds more, and the brown haired merc was making her way up the stairs and onto the bridge. "Captain?" she questioned, seeing him still by the com-system and not by the console.

He took a moment to look her over. Apparently she'd picked up a few habits from Jayne, such as staying armed and clothed even in the middle of the night. She was alert, as though she hadn't just been sleeping, which he contributed more to her past than her current bunkmate. Her wavy hair was tied back loosely, framing her face and drawing attention to her bright eyes, which were still full of question. He shook his head at her, though, letting her know in his silent captainy lingo that she wasn't ready to take the Wave yet.

With a quiet sigh, her image blurred for a moment, making Mal blink automatically to try and readjust his eyes. In that split second, though, she had finished and the transition was complete. She was now the man that Horowitz would remember. Her hair was cropped short, barely a shadow on the top of her head, the planes of her chest now flat and muscled, and her masculine clothing a bit more in place. It was a change the captain still wasn't used to, having only found out about Frank being a girl in disguise about six months previously. He would have loved to forbid her from ever using her glamour again, but while she could drop it around the crew, the outside 'verse still thought she was a man. Including Horowitz, her ex-employer.

Meeting her eyes again, this time he nodded in the direction of the console and she walked briskly towards it. He noticed, with a tinge of amusement, that her hand hovered near her firearm, even though it wouldn't do her any good against the man on the screen. He knew the moment she recognized the image, because her whole body tensed and her face went blank. "Horowitz."  
"Frank," the man offered back in greeting, though his voice sounded more amused. "You're looking…healthy." Mal slid back into the co-pilot's chair, knowing he'd be close enough to observe without being spotted in the background.

Frank chuckled darkly, allowing herself to relax a bit. There was no point in letting this scum bag get to her now. After all, this was her domain, and he was the intruder. The quicker she put him on the defensive, the better her chance at controlling the conversation. "Three meals a day'll do that to you," she countered, indirectly telling him that he had nothing to offer her, although from the look of pleasure on his face he wasn't too upset about how he'd treated her when she'd signed on with him. Not that she could truly hate the man; he was the one who introduced her to Mal. "How's that foot of yours?" she asked lightly, as though commenting on the weather.

That wiped the smile off his face, and put one on hers. So he didn't like being reminded that she'd been able to nearly cripple him before they'd… parted ways. "Functional, if that's what you're asking," he said gruffly.

"I wasn't," Frank stated brusquely. "What do you want?"

The superior attitude was gone now, and he shifted himself in his seat. It would be all business from here out. "Got a job needs doing. A client has requested a smash and grab. None of my men will cut it," he said curtly with a quick shake of his head.

Frank's mouth twitched into an almost-smile. "You need a professional," she translated.  
Horowitz shrugged, feigning indifference on the matter. "Should take about a week, but the money's good, if you're interested. About twenty thou."

Frank snorted. "Platinum, I take it." No way he'd offer her twenty grand in credits. "Let me think about it," she concluded quickly and flicked a couple switches to end the Wave. With a slight shudder she dropped the glamour, glad the façade was no longer needed. She knew she'd lost a lot of ground with the captain since Jayne had unintentionally outed her while she was temporarily dying, and she did her best to be as honest as possible around him now. It was odd, though, that he still seemed to trust her. Guess that was what made them all a family.

"You gonna take him up on it?" Mal asked from behind her. Frank could almost see him leaning against the railing, arms folded, eyes down cast. She knew this stance; the one where he wanted to say something, but didn't feel it was his place. Such a silly notion, since he was the captain after all, but if he wasn't going to tell her no, she'd make her own decision.

Weighing her options she slowly nodded to herself. "Been a while since I got to stretch my legs," she said with a shrug, "and I'd love to get another chance to shoot that bastard."

Mal pushed himself off the railing and moved closer. Looking her in the eye he finally pulled rank. "Don't go looking for a fight, Frank. As much as I don't like the man, he's a good contact." Then he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Besides, it's high time someone else got a chance at it, and I'm next in line."

Frank smirked, smacking him playfully in the arm before sobering once more and looking away. Her gaze found the black, the depth both liberating and restraining. Trapped within Serenity's walls, free to go anywhere they could dream of. "We could use the money," she murmured, quietly enough that she wasn't sure she'd said the thought out loud until Mal stubbornly shouldered past and took the pilot's chair once more. He laid his hands on the instruments even though he hadn't taken it off auto pilot, speaking without looking back at her.

"You do this job, it's your money." To most, his tone would have left no room for discussion, and normally Frank knew to respect that tone, but this time she started shaking her head to his back before he even finished the sentence.

"Serenity is my home too, you know. I don't like seeing her hurting." Mal didn't deny that. Kaylee had been pushing him for more parts a lot recently, and the engine room was getting more chaotic by the second. "Besides, you're my captain. You get some sort of commission on my side jobs." Mal shot her a disbelieving look until he saw her smirking at him.

With a soft chuckle, he turned away again, listening to her retreating footsteps as she made her way back to her bunk. "Remind me to mention that to Jayne one of these days," he whispered to Serenity. She hiccupped in her humming, and he took that to mean he was on his own in that department.


	3. Chapter two

Chapter two

One week later

The light yellow walls of the mess hall gleamed slightly in the bright florescent lighting, making the painted vines, Kaylee's touch, stand out against its pale backdrop. The counters were mostly clear of dishes, although a mug and a bowl or two still remained scattered about, creating a lived-in, homey feel amongst the otherwise stark metal of the ship. Second, perhaps, to the communal sitting room near the infirmary, the kitchen most resembled a grounded house, which was probably why the crew naturally gravitated to it when gatherings occurred.

"I still don't think it's a good idea, Sir." Zoe watched on as Mal gathered up the scattered maps from the wooden mess table, for an instant reminding her of their time in the war. How many hours had they poured over charts and battle schematics behind their superiors' backs, looking for a better way to win the day? But this wasn't a war the captain was planning. It was pure stupidity.

"Which is exactly why it will work," Mal countered, more than a little petulantly. He lifted his pile and tapped the edges on the worn surface to straighten them into a small semblance of order, kicking the legs of his chair back under the table at the same time. Zoe pushed hers in as well as she stood, grating it loudly in her frustration. "No one will see it coming."

Zoe opened her mouth to continue arguing, but with one stern look she closed it. Once again, she was being forced to trust him. Not that she minded; she could think of plenty of worse men to put her trust in. But that didn't mean she was happy about it at the moment.

Mal turned on his heel and was about to make for the cargo bay, but the ding of the PA stopped him. Zoe looked up as her husband's tense voice came over the loud speaker. "Captain, there's a Wave for you." Glancing back at said Captain, she could see the worried glint flash across his eyes before he buried it. Without a word, they both made their way to the bridge.

"Wash?" Mal questioned in lieu of greeting as he bounded up the stairs, Zoe on his heels.

Wash spun around in his chair, grabbing the consol to stop his momentum. The crease in his brow and frown on his lips mirrored the tense tone they'd heard over the com system. "It's Horowitz, and boy is he pissed." Sure enough, a livid looking Horowitz was glaring out from the screen on the consol.

"He say why?"

"I didn't ask," Wash said, but it was obvious his lack of questioning was for fear of the answer, not disinterest.

Mal thought for a moment, weighing his options. Normally he would plaster on a fake smile, like he had last week when he'd dealt with the hundan, but this situation was clearly grave in nature. Likely, Frank had done something untoward, and now it was time for damage control. Not that she had thought to warn him about the situation, he thought somewhat angrily.

Mal nodded, and Wash bolted from the pilot's chair, beyond relieved to be out of the line of fire. He quickly moved over to his wife, needing her reassuring presence at his side before his heart would return to a normal rate. Taking hold of her hand, he immediately felt a calm settle over him; no matter what they were dealing with or who was potentially in danger, he loved the feeling of knowing Zoe was alive and safe, if only for the moment. Once his calm was restored, he allowed himself a little bit of worry for Frank's welfare, and he turned back to watch as Mal took the pilot's chair and switched on the Wave.

Once the capture began transmitting Mal's image, he could see Horowitz focus his glare more directly on him. A low growl rumbled through the speakers, serving as a prelude for the tirade to come. "Mal, you sum'bitch, I'm gonna kill you if it's the las' gorram thing I ever do, and bes' you mind, it'll be slow and _real_ painful!"

"Whoa now, hold up – " Mal tried to cut in, but failed.

"When I get my hands on you, you'll wish yer mamma never bothered pushin' you out, you hotzuh duh – "

"Hey!" Mal finally yelled, waving his arm in a cease-fire motion. "What in the sphincter of hell are you going on about?"

"The fact that you're a ruttin' thief, Malcolm Reynolds," Horowitz huffed, clearly winded from his rage.

"Well, yeah, I reckon I am," Mal said with a shrug, "But that's why you hire me, so I'm thinking there has to be another reason you want to kill me."

"Ya stole from _me_, gorram hundan!"

Mal leaned forward. "I've done no such thing," he said vehemently, his tone lowering to a dangerous level. If there was one thing Mal couldn't stand, it was getting accused of something he didn't do.

"Well _your man_ sure as hell did!" Horowitz spat, putting extra emphasis on his reference to Frank. "Blew away my client and made off with the goods!"

Mal blinked. That didn't sound like Frank at all. Yeah she could be a little blood thirsty sometimes, but never because of greed. "Well if he did that, and I ain't saying he did, this is the first we've heard about it."

Horowitz shook his head violently, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. "That's a load of gossuh, Reynolds! You planned this from the beginning and – "

"Biazwei!" Mal shouted before the man started up again. "If Frank deviated from the plan, then it was his own doing, not mine. Besides, you're assuming they weren't _all_ killed by someone else with their eye on your goods."

The following silence was thick with disbelief on both ends, but while Mal's end was trying to shy away from the possibility, Horowitz was slowly buying into it. "You ain't heard from him?" he clarified.

"Believe I already said that," Mal replied around a growing lump in his throat.

Horowitz sat back with a wicked grin. "I find out you're lying ta me, Reynolds, I will personally gut you."

"Doesn't that sound fun," Mal muttered and logged off the Wave, sagging back in the chair.

Wash let the silence drag on as long as he could stand. "So that's it, then?" he said quietly, looking at his wife since the captain had put his head in his hands. "She's really – "

"We don't know that," Zoe interrupted, "do we, Sir?"

"No," Mal mumbled through his palms as he rubbed them against his face. He stood quickly. "Tell no one."

Wash stared at him incredulously. "But – "

"That's an order, Wash," Mal barked, glaring as he marched off the bridge and stomped down to his bunk. He kicked a chair with a loud grunt of frustration. This was exactly why he didn't want her to go. How the hell was he supposed to keep his crew alive if they ran off like that? If she wasn't dead, he was going to kill her.

Wash gawked as he watched Mal barrel down the hallway and out of sight. Tell no one? Their friend was possibly dead, and they were just supposed to go about their day as if they didn't know that? He threw a panicked glance at his wife. "He really just asked us to do that, didn't he?"

Zoe shook her head. "No, Husband. He just told us to do that."

"But Jayne…" Wash trailed off as Zoe lead him back to his chair. He mindlessly took the controls without taking them off autopilot. He didn't really understand Frank and Jayne, but he had seen them look at each other the way he and Zoe did sometimes, so there had to be love there.

"Jayne is the exact reason Mal doesn't want us to say anything," Zoe finished for him. "The man would go ballistic, and then he'd run off on a suicide mission trying to find her. We'd lose two mercs instead of one."

"If it was you out there," Wash nearly whispered, "If you were hurt, or missing, or even…" he shook his head and met Zoe's concerned gaze. "I'd wanna know."

"It's not our call," Zoe said firmly, running a comforting hand through his hair. "But this is Frank we're talking about. I'm sure she's just lying low until the smoke clears."

Wash nodded slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the hope he was offered. He still wasn't sure he'd be able to keep the secret for very long. "Until the smoke clears," he repeated, willing that time to be soon.

Frank sat atop a crate, thumping her fingers against her chin in boredom. Behind the crate were countless other crates, practically identical in nature, save for the fact that her crate had a fake serial number on the side, and only her reprogrammed scanner would show it as anything special. In front of her, people milled about the core-planet space port, rushing to get to their various destinations or purchase cheap goods at the ramshackle carts and stands lining the walkway. The odd thief would pickpocket the few people stupid enough to carry credits on them, and occasionally someone would yell about a ridiculous sticker price on a piece of junk no one was going to buy anyway, but otherwise, the hustle and bustle held no amusement for the merc.

In fact, if Frank was honest with herself as she shifted on the crate to ease the cramp growing in her lower back, the whole situation was pissing her off. Out of the hundreds of people walking past her – thousands maybe – not a single one had been her client. Granted, she didn't look like they expected her to – she'd left off the glamour and rubbed some dirt and grime on her clothes, so to all else she would appear a street rat – but the instructions were very simple. Approach the person sitting on a crate. Ask them where the crates are being shipped to. Comment that it seems like a waste. Glancing up and down the port, she made sure she was the only person sitting on a crate. Okay, so she wasn't what they expected, but it wasn't like they had a lot of choices to make.

A pair of Purple Bellies were making their way down the walkway, and Frank shrunk down a little, hoping not to be noticed. One of them stopped a man near a stand, but he was too far away to hear over the din. The other made his way closer to her, also stopping a man who was walking by. "Hey you," he barked, holding up his hand in front of the man, forcing him to either stop or plow the Purple Belly over. "Identcard," he commanded. The man hurried to pull it from his pocket and shakily handed it over.

"What seems to be the problem?" the man asked, clearly about to piss himself. Frank smirked as she noticed him clutching at his jacket pocket, pretending to fiddle with the zipper. Obviously, he had something to hide.

It was lost on the officer, however, who just gave him a deadpanned look and scanned the card. A soft beep marked him free to go, and he handed over the card. "Found three men dead in the port a little while ago. Real sloppy work. Just sweeping the area to make sure the idiot who did it didn't stick around." Without waiting to hear the response, the officer moved on, evidently not under the impression that his assignment would actually lead to an arrest. Frank quickly ducked down behind her crate and slipped on the coveralls she'd hidden in a fork lift nearby. The plan had been to get the client's ship's location and drop the crate off under the guise of a worker, but it looked like that plan was shot to hell now.

Some people believe in coincidence. Frank was not one of those people. A client running late was one thing; her client running late and then three people showing up dead in the same port, meant no one was coming to claim the goods, and she needed to get the hell out of there. She activated the lift and expertly scooped up the crate. She cursed fluidly under her breath as she maneuvered it through the other crates and then the crowd. It had taken a lot of effort to nick the container now hidden in the crate, considering that she'd nicked it from the Alliance itself, and it was incredibly unfair that after all her hard work had gone smooth, her meal ticket was the one who mucked it all up right before she got paid.

Sighing, Frank made for her shuttle. Jumping off the fork lift, she punched in the code to open the airlock. She needed to move fast, or someone would take note that a worker dumped a crate in a hull and didn't wait for the owner to sign the release forms. Once it was on board, she punched the code to seal the shuttle up again and ditched her coveralls and the lift a few dockings over, walking quickly back to the ship. Again embarking her getaway vehicle, she quickly ran through her preflight checklist and metaphorically put the port in her rearview mirror. No one even blinked an eye at her departure; they were looking for a man, after all.

Once she was clear of any major gravitational fields, she threw on the autopilot and swung her chair around so she could glare at the crate sitting innocently on the floor. "I hope you're worth the trouble," she grumbled to herself, knowing she should probably contact Horowitz about the lack of delivery, but unwilling to face him with a failed job. Huffing, she stood up suddenly and pried the top of the crate off so she could see the container again. It was practically a replica of a stainless steel freezer she'd seen once on Earth That Was, but with some latches and a screen pad that resembled a Cortex vid. The controls looked simple enough. She released the latches and the lid slid back on its own, revealing the contents.

Frank blinked a few times. "Oh shit," was all she got out.


End file.
